


A Conductor of Light

by alexcat



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, after Watson gets blown up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:34:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24363619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexcat/pseuds/alexcat
Summary: Holmes brings Watson home after he gets blown up. He welcomes him home with some enthusiasm.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 68
Collections: Holmestice Exchange - Summer 2020





	A Conductor of Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monkiainen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monkiainen/gifts).



> To my recipient: You said you liked to get right to the porn sometimes. Watson and Holmes thought they would oblige you. As a matter of fact, they were quite thrilled to do so. 
> 
> _“It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but that you are a conductor of light. Some people, without possessing genius, have a remarkable power of stimulating it.”_  
>  ― Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Watson was glad to be home. His injuries weren’t as bad as he’d feared. His hearing was still a little off and he did have a few burns but he was, for the most part, well. Holmes had come to fetch him home and Mrs. Hudson had made dinner for them both. Watson was fond of her and glad that she put up with Holmes even though she thought he was often quite insane. 

He was sometimes quite mad, Watson thought, then smiled. 

He watched Holmes reading the newspaper. 

“You really shouldn’t be here, Holmes. The police are looking for you.” 

“Lestrade won’t come for me tonight. He knew that I was bringing you home. He’ll leave us alone until tomorrow.”

Watson chose not to think about what else Lestrade might know about them. At least they had tonight and he meant to make the most of every moment. All he had to do was get Holmes to focus on him long enough to make his wishes known. Right now, he was focused on this case and Irene Adler. 

“What shall we do with our night then?” Watson asked, raising his eyebrow when Holmes looked at him. 

“Do you have a plan? It doesn’t involve me cleaning anything, does it?” Holmes was not very tidy though he could tell if anyone moved anything a fraction of an inch from where he had it. 

“No cleaning at all. Perhaps you could help me get into my bed?” Watson said, his voice sounding quite light. 

“I can do that.” Those dark eyes looked into Watson’s.

Holmes crossed the room to stand by Watson’s chair. Instead of reaching for his hand to get up, Watson pulled Holmes down for a kiss. Holmes always managed to act quite reluctant at first, though they both knew it really was an act. 

Holmes knelt down in front of Watson’s chair and leaned close. 

“You know you almost got me killed?” Watson said. 

“I do. How can I repay you?” 

Watson laughed. “I’m sure we’ll think of something. Maybe you could give up playing the violin? Or perhaps stop experimenting on my dog?” 

“He doesn’t mind.” 

“You almost killed him!” 

“But I didn’t. He likes the attention.” 

“Just stop talking, Holmes. You’re a much better companion when you aren’t talking.” 

“I could say the same, Watson.” 

Watson laughed again. “No. You couldn’t.” He kissed Holmes, pulling him close again as he did. “Show me how sorry you are.”

Holmes took his hands and pulled him to his feet. “Would you be more comfortable in the bed?”

“Only if Irene hasn’t been in it. I don’t want to smell the woman on your sheets,” Watson told him.

“Jealous?” Holmes arched an eyebrow. 

“I might be.” 

Holmes led him to his bedroom. He moved some books from the bed and turned Irene’s picture over so Watson couldn’t see her. “Better?” he asked. 

Watson nodded and reached for him. “You are an annoying man. Why do I put up with you?” 

“I _am_ brilliant.”

“In bed,” Watson said as he began unbuttoning Holmes’ shirt. 

“That, too.” 

Neither talked as they undressed one another, stopping for a kiss here and there as they went. Once they were down to their underwear, Holmes lay down and reached for Watson. His embrace was gentle, as his hands worked the buttons of Watson’s woolen underwear. 

“I do wish they’d invent underwear that is easier to remove,” Holmes said as he unbuttoned the last bit and reached his hand inside. 

Watson was already quite aroused and he made a sound as Holmes took him in hand. Holmes moved close enough to press his own wool covered body against Watson’s hip. Watson still couldn’t help but comment on Holmes’s words. 

“You do your best to get us killed without a care in the word, then worry about getting my underwear unbuttoned? Sometimes I wonder what I see in you.”

Holmes turned Watson’s head toward him and kissed him, a long intense kiss that was meant to make Watson forget what he just said. Why not? Watson gave himself over to Holmes’ kisses and caresses. 

“I need you, Watson, and not just as a flatmate.”

“I need you, too, though I can’t think enough right now to say why.” Watson was telling the truth, because Holmes was moving his hand in ways that made his brain foggy. 

Holmes stopped with his hand and began to remove Watson’s underwear then his own. 

Holmes was not quite as tall as Watson, and he was rather slender as well. Watson knew that these things were deceiving. Holmes was quite strong and fit, as Watson knew from his hobby, boxing, and usually boxing men a lot bigger than he was. 

Holmes pushed him onto his back and began to kiss his body, being careful of his burns and bruises. When Watson sighed rather loudly, Holmes looked up at him from what he was doing. “Shall I stop? Am I hurting you?”

Watson groaned. “Don’t you dare.”

Holmes kissed his way up Watson’s lame leg and then went to the other one and began moving up again. He seemed to always enjoy torturing Watson with his slow, deliberate teasing. But the wait was worth it. 

It always was worth it. 

Holmes finally worked his way all the way back up to Watson’s midsection.

And he stopped. 

He simply looked at Watson’s fully erect cock as if he were looking at some clue in one of their cases. 

“I’m going to kick you if you don’t do something soon,” Watson told him. 

He did, taking Watson into his mouth slowly. The pleasure was exquisite. The anticipation was torture. 

“Ahhhh, that. Do that,” Watson said, arching his hips upward, hoping to encourage Holmes to continue in his endeavor. Holmes did continue and soon Watson had forgotten all about his injuries and indeed, even his name. He did not, however, bring things to the conclusion that Watson was hoping for. He stopped, instead, and looked up at his lover. 

“What?” Watson asked. “You need instruction? I seem to remember that you know how to do this very well.”

“I do most things well, Watson, even the mundane.” 

Watson thought about murder himself. He doubted Lestrade could solve it without Holmes’ help. He could commit the perfect murder, but that was not what he wanted, no, needed right now. 

“Mundane, is it?” Watson asked. 

“Well, perhaps in theory it is mundane. In practice, it is rather more interesting.”

“Then do continue. Please.” It would not be the first time he begged Sherlock Holmes for what he wanted, nor, he suspected, would it be the last. 

Holmes grabbed a small ceramic jar from the bedside table and opened it. He scooped a generous amount of the oily substance out and anointed Watson’s cock with it. Watson drew a sharp breath. It was not often they indulged in this act, the actual act of intercourse. They normally employed hands and mouths instead. This was a rare delight. 

He watched intently as Holmes straddled him and reached behind his back to guide Watson into his body. 

“Sometimes I hate you,” Watson whispered to his best friend and lover.

“And sometimes you love me,” Holmes finished for him. He began to move up and down, slowly at first, then faster. 

“Oh god yes,” Watson said then neither of them talked for several minutes as Watson reached for him, stroking him as Holmes rode him like an American rodeo pony. Somehow, they managed to find the pinnacle they sought together, coming close to kiss as their hearts slowed and their breath began to return to normal. 

“And sometimes I love you, too, Watson.” 

“That is the one thing I do know, my dear Holmes.” 

Watson slipped free and Holmes moved to lie beside him, putting his head on Watson’s uninjured shoulder. Just as Watson was drifting off to sleep, Holmes said, “I’m glad you didn’t die. I’d have to find someone new to help me.”

“Shut up and go to sleep,” Watson told him.

Watson didn’t see the happy smile cross Holmes’ face as he closed his eyes.


End file.
